Bring me to Life
by Ms. Mimi Elphie-Amy
Summary: Originally 'Mark's Secrets'. Mark's got some terribles secrets, and he can't live with them anymore. Can his best friend save him before it's too late? mentions of prostitution, alchol abuse, and cutting multichap COMPLETE  sequel up: save me, my friend
1. Harsh nights to survive the day

**Okay, again I got inspired by other people's work. This is either gonna be a multishot or an oneshot. It's up to you to decide (well, it's actually me, but reviewing/sending me a message to tell me that I should continue this wouldn't hurt!) This is extremely angsty btw**

_**Disclaimer: You already know**_

"_How can you see into my eyes like open doors?  
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb  
Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold  
Until you find it there and lead it back home." –Bring me to life,_ Evanescence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~::~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Zoom in on Mark..._

He stares at the ceiling with no happiness, no pride. No nothing. The only thing that's occupying him is a numbness that's been with him the entire night.

_Mark, who's lying on the ground, naked..._

He wonders how much longer he'll have to stay here.

_Snoring is rumbling from above. It's from the man that hurt Mark... _

He truly hated what he was doing. But truly he's doing it for the money...The money...

_Mark didn't really mind the pain._

He wonders what Roger's doing right now. Probably sleeping, or staring into space. The only two things that Roger did now that Mimi's dead.

_Zoom on the money beside him. The man threw it at Mark after fucking him._

It's a lot of money, as it always was. He'll be able to afford rent, food, Roger's AZT, and probably pay back 50$ out of the 200$ he owed Collins. Hopefully with what he was doing, he won't ever have to ask Collins for money again.

_Despite the fact that Mark was numb during the whole thing, doesn't mean it didn't hurt._

He was bruised everywhere, and bleeding in some areas. It hurt, but it was for the money.

For Roger.

And sometimes, even for him.

_Zoom in on the window. The sun was just coming up, but that didn't comfort Mark none._

Roger would probably wake up soon, so it might be a good idea to head back...

_Mark, who was still on the floor, thought groggily,_ If he even noticed that I was gone.

Roger's been very...detached. He barely talked to Mark anymore, and he avoided it when he could. So sadly Roger probably wouldn't have even noticed he was gone.

_Zoom in on Mark, who sits up with a grimace, noting the sun coming up._

Time to start another painful day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~::~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Zoom in on Mark, climbing the steps up to the loft. He grimaces with every step, and he's barely making it._

Sometimes, he wished he could stop it.

Stop going to those freaks' houses, and let them fuck him until he can barely walk.

Sometimes he's thankful--

For the money of course.

_Stop lying to yourself, Cohen._

Mark sighed as he _finally_ climbed the last step. He was so sore. Did that man have to be rough?

_Of course he did Mark. He was trying to get the most out of his money. He was trying to fulfill his fantasies, no matter how sick they may be. _

Mark touched the door with a grimace. He hoped that Roger wasn't up. He quickly checked his clock.

_8:36_.

It took him that long to get back?

Mark opened the door slowly, hopefully it wouldn't creak. But as per usual it did.

Mark gritted his teeth in pain as he walked inside.

_Just a few more steps Mark, a few more steps-_

"Mark?"

_Fuck._

"Yeah, Roger?" Mark asked, trying to right his limping figure.

"What the hell were you doing out all night?"

_You noticed?_

"What're you talking about Roger?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."_ Leave me alone Roger. I don't like lying to you._

"Yes you _do_! I woke up last night to find you missing, so I stayed up all night waiting for you to come home. I've also noticed that almost every night for the past 2 weeks you've been coming into the apartment way at 5 in the morning! You've _never_ wake up that early!" Roger cried, fuming.

_Zoom in on Roger...He_ was _sitting at the window when Mark came in, but now...he was standing up, his hands on his hips and looking furious. This is the most he's talked for 4 months...ever since Mimi died. _

_Zoom out and back in, but this time on Mark. He's across from Roger; still slightly grimacing from the pain he's feeling _everywhere_. Roger didn't seem to notice it though; he was too focused on getting the truth out of Mark._

"How would you know? You've been detached for _4 fucking months _Roger! And _now_ you decide to notice my new habits!"

_Please Roger, let me go to bed. I'm _so_ tired..._Mark begs Roger in his mind.

_Zoom back in on Roger, who looks about seething right now. Mark could practically imagine the flames coming from behind him and from his ears._

_But Roger still says nothing._

Mark turned, and practically racing to the door with all of his strength. _Just a little more Cohen, just a little more-_

Hands on him. On his arms.

_Hands, grabbing him, touching him,_ hurting _him. They want this. They_ want _to hurt him. _It'll all be worth it _he tells himself, but he knows it's not. He knows it's not worth the money. His dignity is worth more than 500$ a night right?_

_Will I lose my dignity?_

"Mark, talk to me. I know I haven't been much of a friend-"

_Will someone care?_

"-But I want to change back into the Roger you used to know-"

_Will I wake tomorrow from this nightmare?_

_Pain_. Roger's causing so much _pain_ in his arms. _Please let go._

"Please don't hurt me."

Pause... "What?"

_Shit. I said that out loud._

"Nothing. I'm tired. Goodnight."

"Nuh uh, you aren't going anywhere. I want to talk."

"No Roger," Mark bit his lip. To get Roger to go away, he had to say something terrible...was the bed in the next room worth it? _Yes._

"I don't need you protecting me. I'm a big boy now, so let me the fuck go."

Roger pulled away, and flinched as if those words were a physical slap. Mark instantly felt guilty, and usually he'd go up to him and apologize...

But to Mark there was no usually anymore. The person in this body wasn't Mark.

This new person was someone else entirely...

Someone who'd give up their dignity and body for a 500$ night stand

Someone who'd risk HIV from his buyers

Someone who _let _himself feel nothing.

Someone who hurt himself on purpose...

It's funny how the men who paid for Mark's services didn't mind that he was damaged goods. They didn't mind he had cuts all over his arms, his belly, and his thighs. They didn't really care how much they opened up the wounds that weren't healed yet. They didn't care how much blood Mark lost every day because of them opening his wounds. They honestly didn't mind.

_That shows how much the outside world cares for you._

Mark walked away again, and this time Roger let him go. Mark was lucky this time. Hopefully, now Roger will turn his head, and he wouldn't bring it up any more...

As Mark plopped down into his bed with a grimace, he only had one thought...

_One night is thankfully over so we can survive in the morning._

_~~~~~~~~~~~::~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

"_Without thought, without voice, without a soul  
Don't let me die here  
There must be something more  
Bring me to life_

_I've been living a lie  
There's nothing inside  
Bring me to life." -Bring me to life,_ Evanescence


	2. Questions with no answers

**I got a review saying that the person wouldn't mind a multi-chap, so here it is...more likely than not I will add one more chapter after this and then BAM!! I'm done.**

**Anyway, I don't own RE**_**N**_**T, though I wish with all my heart I did, and thanks to my reviewer.**

**Oh, and reviews = Reese cups, and Reese cups = Love. Get my drift? If you don't then here's the short version: PLEASE REVIEW!!**

_Hurt...Pain...Grunting, heavy breathing...numb numb numb...be numb...A cry out...From the customer, not Mark...Never Mark..._

_Sore...Knife...Sigh...Blood...Blood-stained t-shirt...numb numb sigh...Gasp...Cut cut cut...Release...Hide...Wash...Wash blood stained hands...Bleed bleed bleed...blood... _

"Mark."

_Blood...money...cries...tears...deceive...crumble...numb...numb...numb..._

"Mark...Mark!"

_Numb...numb...numb...numb..._

"MARK!"

Mark woke up with a gasp, and sat up to see Roger leaning over him. Roger had a strange look on his face...in his eyes. There was something his eyes that Mark hasn't seen in a while; worry. Mark was instantly confused; he hasn't seen any real emotion on the musician's face since her broke down at Mimi's funeral. Sure, occasionally, Mark saw anger, grief, or rarely even interest. But those were the rare days that Mark actually saw something _alive_ in his roommate.

And for some reason some life was brought out of him today.

"What?" Mark groaned, turning onto his stomach.

_Ouch_!_ Not_ a good idea! Mark slightly gasped, and his pale hand reached its way down to his stomach. He hurt _so _much.

"You okay?" Roger asked, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "No, I'm _not_ Roger. Leave me the _fuck _alone!" Mark cried, still holding his stomach in pain. Roger stood back, apparently shocked. He couldn't believe that Mark would get mad at him for something so _small_.

_Unless it's not as small as I think it is._ Roger thought worriedly.

"Go!" Mark cried, gritting his teeth. "No, Mark, I want you to explain what's wrong." Roger said worriedly. "Please, just go God dammit!" Mark gasped, going back onto his back. That felt a little more comfortable. _As comfortably as I can get_ now...Mark thought angrily.

"No Mark, I'm worried."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Please Mark; I just want to know what's up. I mean, you come home late, and won't explain to me why. And now you want me to leave when I'm trying to _talk_ to you." Roger begged, and Mark was taken by surprise. What the hell—Mark's eyes widened. _Please, please let it be just my imagination..._

"Roger, are you high or something?"

Roger just stared in shock at Mark for a second, and then rage kicked in. "Why the hell would I be high?! I can't _believe_ you think I'd go back to that!—"

"Sorry, okay? I just assumed because you're so freakin' _awake_." Mark whispered. God, he was so tired of fighting with Roger. All he wanted was to lie down in bed and fall into a deep sleep. Mmm...And maybe never wake up. Roger could take care of himself right...?

Mark was thinking of suicide a lot lately. He was just so _tired_ of living. It was becoming a pain just to get up in the morning (not only literally). He wanted to be with Angel, Mimi, and Maureen. That's right; Maureen's dead. She died in a car crash. She thought she was okay to drive home after having a couple of drinks with Collins and Mark.

But she wasn't.

She sped through a red light, and crashed into somebody's vehicle. She died on impact, but thankfully the person in the other car only came out with a broken leg. After that day, Collins' heath decreased horribly (which led to his too early death), and Joanne left NYC and they haven't heard from her since. It's probably for the best...

How much happier would he be if he was able to see the white light, and see Angel's and Maureen's smiling faces coming to greet him. But it was just a dream...nothing more. A fantasy, a dream...a possibility...an _option_...

Mark shook his head. No, he didn't want Roger to suffer just because Mark couldn't take _life_ anymore. Roger didn't need a repeat of April...

"Awake? Whaddya mean?" Roger asked, actually looking innocent.

"Do I _have_ to spell it out for you? You've become so detached that you haven't noticed _shit _until this week you asshole." Mark growled, and the old Mark gasped. The old Mark couldn't believe he called Roger an _asshole_. He always dreamed of it of course, ever since the withdrawal, but he's never _done_ it.

"What's been going on before this week?"

_Shit._ Mark can't stop digging himself into a deeper hole.

"N-Nothing. Never mind. I don't feel well Rog. Can I please just go back to bed?" Mark pleaded, looking at Roger tiredly. For a second Roger's resolve faltered, but then Roger remembered his worry for Mark, and his resolve built itself up even stronger.

"Mark, if there was something wrong, you'd tell me right?" Roger asked cautiously. "No." Mark muttered, and dug his head into his pillow.

Roger's mouth hung open. He couldn't believe it; his Mark, Mark the rock, Mark the best buddy, Mark the one-man-you-can-count-on just told him that he didn't trust Roger, his pal, his partner in mischief since they were in kindergarten...Out all things they had in their friendship the strongest was _trust_, and now Mark revealed that he didn't trust him..._No..._

"Y-You must be tired." Roger was finally able to stutter. "Finally you figure that out?" Mark growled. That was the changing point. Roger couldn't take Mark's mood anymore. "Mark, there's something wrong, and I want you to tell me what it is. I'm tired of this shit—"

"Then _leave_!"

Roger stared at his best friend still lying on his bed. His face was pretty red, and he looked pissed off. _He's not going to tell me anything..._Roger realized.

"Fuck you." Was all Roger said as he left Mark's bedroom.

Mark sighed once the door was closed. _Roger had no right to come in here and just talk crap about how he was worried about me...I mean...I guess he did have a right, I mean he's my best friend...I _trust _him...But he should have turned his head. He should have ignored it..._

Mark put a pillow over his head, and slightly screamed. He hated hiding from his _best friend_, but he had to do it. If they were going to survive, it was Mark's only choice. _I have to make Roger survive a bit longer..._

Roger held his head in his hands as he sat on the windowsill. He wanted Mark to open up Goddammit, but it was kind of hard since Mark refused to let anything through his walls.

_What the hell can I do to make him see I care? I need him to see...He needs to open up before he gets hurt._

He wished he could just force it out of him, but he knew Mark could probably deal with a lot of torture before he gave up his secret. _I can't believe he doesn't trust me enough to tell me..._


	3. One jump

**There are two parts to this chapter, because if I fitted the two parts together it'd probably be over 3, 000 words. **

**That's all I have to say, except that next chapter **_**will **_**be the last (unless someone can convince me to write an epilogue or a sequel or something).**

**R&R,**

**Ash**

"_December 24__th__, 10 pm, 1994,_

"Life sucks, but hey at least there is still some stoili left from Collins' last day." The blonde filmmaker whispered, taking a swig from the vodka bottle. He grimaced, but honestly he didn't care how bad it tasted. His life sucked too much to care about such a simple thing as the taste of vodka.

Despite the fact that the filmmaker's beloved camera was beside him, turned off of course, Mark the filmmaker kept narrating. He really didn't care though; no one there to hear him.

Not even Roger, who he assumes is still alive.

It was November 15th when Mark's best friend of all time left him. The second morning after the fight. After the fight, things were quiet between Mark and Roger, and the only words said all day were "Take you AZT." And "Fuck off, you're not my mother."

The next morning after that, Mark awoke to a note on the kitchen table. He already knew what it was; Roger's goodbye note. He could practically quote was on it without even reading it, "_I'm sorry Mark, but I can't take this shit—"_

"_I brought most of my stuff with me, the rest can be thrown out—"_

"_I really wish you told me what happened—"_

"_Take care of yourself."_

Mark was pretty much right. It was a short note, and it didn't really have any significance in it...but that didn't stop Mark from collapsing into tears. After all those days of not crying from the pain of life, Mark Cohen, the rock, finally cried after 2 ½ years of fighting tears back.

He was hoping that Roger would somehow sense his tears and come back, but Mark had no such luck. After the 13th day of praying for him to come back, Mark finally decided to try to earn some closure; burn up the note.

_If girls can do it, why can't I?_

But sadly it didn't give him any closure, and nor did the prostitution or the cutting. So, Mark stopped selling his body, and gave up the knife. It wasn't easy, and many times Mark's switchblade found its way into Mark's hands, but he was able to do it more the most part.

On December 4th, 1994, Thomas A. Collins died. Mark didn't know what to do with himself. He was Mark's best friend since college, and it was hard. His grief was endless. He lost the one person who had him talk, and Collins listened too. Mark didn't see his death coming...He went to the funeral, and didn't see Roger there. He thought of calling Roger just in case he didn't know, but...he couldn't bring himself to pick up the phone.

On December 5th, Mark found a new outlet instead of the cutting and it was simple and easy as long as he didn't mind the bitter taste of vodka and he had enough money to buy it.

Alcohol.

He became obsessed. The alcohol altered reality, made it better, happier. When he was buzzed, he could giggle for hours on end for no reason at all. Bottles littered the apartment, and it was amazing that the apartment was still good enough to live in. It smelt of beer, but no one else care so why should he?

Now Mark stared down at the road below him. He was on the roof, precariously sitting on the edge. His feet dangled off the building, and if he wanted to he could just slip off. _Slip off...slip off..._the street begged, or that could just be the alcohol consumption.

Today was the anniversary of Mark's stop to prostitution. He was kind of happy of that fact, and decided some stoili couldn't hurt. Some turned into a lot more than a bottle, and sober turned into drunk.

But today the buzz wasn't helping Mark.

In fact, it was reopening wounds and making him feel more like crap than ever. He remembered Angel's death, Mimi's death, Collins' death, Roger's disappearance...Maureen's death Maureen Maureen Maureen _Maureen_...

_Is she looking down at me right now?...Maybe she wants me to join her..._

Sure, Mark has thought of suicide, but he has never thought of going through with it. It would devastate Roger—

_Well, Roger doesn't give a rat's ass for you right now. What the hell is stopping you? _Mark's inner demons hissed.

The pavement below looked pretty good right now. Roger obviously didn't care enough to even call, so why should he care if he jumped off the fucking building? Fuck Roger...

"Fuck Roger, fuck Roger, fuck THE WORLD!" Mark cried, standing up. He wobbled a little bit, but he righted himself quickly. He took a sip of his vodka and stared downwards. It'd be okay.

_You'll be fine. You'll be killed from the fall before you hit the pavement, so it won't hurt._

Mark bent down and grabbed his camera, suddenly getting a morbid idea. His suicide note would come in a package of film.

"_December 24__th__, 11 pm, 1994_...Hello to the person who's found my beloved camera. I'm assuming it's you Roger...at least I hope it's you—"

Mark was so caught up that he didn't hear the rooftop door creak.

**OH NO! What **_**will **_**happen? Wait, I know!**

**Readers: *throws RENT script***

**OUCH!...THANKS! *runs away with script***

**Readers: *runs after me***


	4. I need you! THE END

**Okay, last instalment! Now, **_**someone**_** (thank you BabyJane7!) suggested I write a sequel. If you guys want one, please email me ideas! I'd love it if you emailed me suggestions, ideas, anything! You'll get a thank you note and a cookie! :)**

_**Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, but I DO own the poem!**_

(Back to)_ 10 pm_

Roger walked purposefully towards the Loft. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to check up on Mark. It was only fair to himself and his best friend. He needed closure. Plus, the old singer of the Well Hungarians was way too loud when he was having sex with his girlfriend for comfort. He also missed Mark, and he hasn't checked in with Mark or talked to him about Collins' death.

He heard of Collins' death from the newspaper, and by the time he read it the funeral was long and gone. '_NYU Professor dies after school shooting_' It practically killed Roger. Collins died in a shooting, not AIDS. That's the most horrible part of it. His life was cut short, and then it was cut and ended even quicker because of some depressed kid against homosexuality. It was cruel...

And Roger could only imagine how Mark was handling it. After Collins' death, Roger was so busy with his own feelings that he totally blown off Mark.

So there he was, in Alphabet city once more trudging to his old apartment.

The last month wasn't anything special (other than Collins' death of course). He hadn't written anything new, nor did the singer welcome him with open arms. His girlfriend did (she hit on him numerous times), and that just made the lead singer even more unwelcoming.

The only good thing was that the Well Hungarians were thinking of gathering up again and maybe playing together again. Roger couldn't wait to tell Mark the news.

He also couldn't wait to see how Mark was doing.

He couldn't help but worry about his little filmmaker. They didn't leave things off very well, and he was so worried about what Mark did behind his back. Roger was hoping that Mark had straightened out, but there wasn't a lot of hope since Mark was a stubborn as hell.

Roger was also hoping that Mark had forgiven him, but there wasn't much hope in that since Mark didn't answer when he called.

Roger sighed as he climbed the steps two at a time. He needed his rock, his Marky, his pal...

When he entered the infamous loft, he didn't expect what was in front of him at all.

Bottles, empty bottles littered the floor. _Beer bottles, vodka bottles, whiskey bottles..._Roger realized, kicking one out of his way. He looked over at the famous answering machine, and he counted the red blimps.

_There's 14 messages on there!_ Roger realized, _There's no way he got mine._

It was then Roger got worried. "Mark?" he called out. No answer. "C'mon Mark, this isn't funny. Why the hell is there so many bottles?" Roger asked, kicking another one which went under the couch. Neither voice, nor any sound of breathing except Roger's own rang through the house.

Now more worried than ever, Roger zipped through the apartment, kicking away whatever was in his path. He searched the bathroom, kitchen, and the living room. When he made it to Mark's bedroom, nothing was in there either, except...

Roger came forward, and picked up the small notebook there. He quickly searched through it, and was shocked to see what was in there. Dark poems, morbid poems, sad poems, poems about death, life, pain and...Roger gulped.

Cutting.

No, Mark wouldn't do that he wouldn't...but he couldn't deny the truth in front him. Because not only did he have the notebook, but there was a glinting switchblade on the nightstand.

The last poem scared him the most.

_Cut cut slice slice_

What he's doing isn't nice

_Slick slick slash slash_

This bloody knife leaves a gash

_Slip slip slide slide_

The blood smears and doesn't hide

He tries to stop,

He really does

But it keeps coming back, this cause

He doesn't tell the person he loves

Afraid that he'll judge him, mock him

He hides the knife and washes his bloody pale gloves

He knows he has to stop this madness

But it gets harder for him every day

Just to put that knife and bottle away for the day is hard

For him in every way.

So for now he'll just wait for someone to notice

For someone to care

And as he waits, he'll hold his knife and

Give his skin a bloody tear

_Gulp gulp sip sip_

Drink all your worries away

_Sigh sigh drink drink_

Drink so fast that there's no time to think

_Forget forget pain pain_

Must forget the source of this pain

He missed his friend

His buddy and his pal

He trust him, he really does

But he cannot tell his friend his secrets

Roger felt tears in his eyes. His friend wouldn't really feel that way...not Mark, not his best friend, not his constant...No way.

But there was too much evidence that he in fact feel this way. That he in fact cuts, and the plural at the end of "secret" probably means he's been doing more than that. Roger couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe he felt this way.

His Mark

His Mark thinks that Roger doesn't care

His Mark misses him

His Mark cuts

His Mark probably gets drunk

His Mark...is wearing a mask, and God knows how long he has.

Roger was still reeling in shock when he heard someone yelling. He stood stock still, and tried to make out the words.

"-Roger, fuck Roger, fuck THE WORLD!"

_That's Mark, from the rooftop._ Roger realized. As soon as he realized it, he was up and running for the door. _Oh God, please don't let him jump, please don't let him jump..._He kicked anything in his path away, and he didn't care where they ended up. He ran out the door (practically throwing it off its hinges), and raced up the stairs.

_Oh God, let him be alright, don't jump don't jump don't jump—_

He was just beside the door, and was about to bust it open shouting at Mark to get off the ledge on back onto the roof, when he realized something. _I could scare him. If I do, he might just jump._

So, despite the fact it took all of his patience and all of his self-control, he took a breath and only opened the door a crack. A ghastly sight met him. There was Mark, on the edge. He was on ledge, an almost empty stoili bottle beside him, and he had his camera in his hands.

"_December 24__th__, 11 pm, 1994_...Hello to the person who's found my beloved camera. I'm assuming it's you Roger...at least I hope it's you. Out of all the people I know, I'd want you Roger to find my suicide note. Yep, that's right Rog...it has happened again to you.

"Suicide. It has ruined your life, with April's and all, but hopefully mine won't. I kind of hope that maybe you'll get over me..." Roger stared in shock at Mark. _Does he think that I hate him_ that _much?_ Roger thought sadly, "Kind of. I also kind of hope that you'll be a bit sorry for leaving me here when I needed you most. If you had pushed a little harder, I probably would've told you my secrets. But since you won't be able to push me for information after I'm long and gone, I guess I'll just tell you now.

"First off, I'll tell you the easiest. I was a prostitute. That's right Roger, your Mark was a whore," Roger stared wide eyes at Mark. He didn't expect _that_ at all from Mark…not his Mark, "Do you remember all those nights that I came home late that week you_ finally_ noticed…That's where I was. In alleys, in other people's homes, in bar bathrooms…With men on top of me, shoving me, hurting me. Don't worry, after you left I called it quits. I figured if you weren't coming back, there was no need for it any more. Who cares about me…I'd rather die cold and hungry then from bleeding to death from a cruel fucking."

Roger grimaced; he didn't know this at all. He assumed that maybe Mark was seeing someone, or doing something wrong like drugs or something…but this…this was something he would've never guessed. And the only reason he did it was to support Roger...

"Okay, this one is slightly harder...Rog, after Collins died, I decided that I needed a drink...one turned into two, two turned into three, three turned into six...You get the picture. I know what you're probably thinking; oh, what does a few helpless drinks and buzzes do to make it a secret? Well, you see, this began to happen more and more often, until every day I was downing a 24. It took me a long time to figure out what I was, it actually it took me until today to figure it out...I'm a drunk. Just like my father. That's why I'm on the roof in the first place. I wanted to think...Well, I guess thinking turned into something a little more huh?" Mark asked the camera, looking down for a split second. _I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid—_

Roger slightly gaped. He couldn't believe it...Mark openly admitted he was like his father, and that scared him. Mark hated his father, and now he was willing to commit suicide because of it. Roger was just about to burst through the door and stop Mark, when Mark added quietly, "Finally...

"Finally, I have one last secret. It's the worst, I think. I think you'll hate me for it. Probably'll remind you of April, except the fact that 1, I stopped, 2, I didn't go too deep. I didn't go deep enough to kill me. You see...I cut. I have scars all over my body to prove it. Well, I used to cut. I stopped after you left. No, it's not because of you I used to cut...I used to cut 'cuz I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the pain. I needed...I needed to be able to control my pain. And cutting was my only option."

Roger stared at his friend threw a new light. Mark was hiding his pain in horrible ways, and Roger missed it.

How many times has Roger missed the pain in Mark's eyes?

How many times has Roger been just one room away while Mark hurt himself?

How many times did Roger suspect something, but push it down and think, _Mark's strong, not stupid._

Mark's strong, but he's not strong enough.

"Well, I'm gonna go now. I'm off to see Angel, Mimi, Collins, and Maureen." Mark smiled morbidly at the camera. Mark lifted a foot—

"MARK ANTHONY COHEN! Get off the ledge and onto the roof NOW!" Roger cried, running away from the door. Mark gasped, and turned to look at Roger.

Mark's eyes visibly got wider, and Mark was looking as if he was seeing a ghost. "Rog?" he finally asked his voice raspy.

"Yes, Mark. Please, please, get off the ledge. I beg of you." Roger asked, coming forward slowly.

"You beg of me?" Mark scoffed, "Yeah, okay Rog. If you care about me _so_ much, I have to ask you; Why'd you leave me? I _needed_ you, and you abandoned me like a child in the rain without a parent. So Roger, tell me one good reason why to get off the ledge?" Mark asked, setting his camera down.

Roger noticed it was no longer rolling, it was just sitting there. Like Mark it lost its light. It seemed to light up whenever Mark used it, but now...it's dead.

Just like Mark will be if Roger can't get him off the ledge.

"Because Mark, I need you! I love you Mark! You're my brother, my best friend. My partner in crime, my buddy, my rock. I love you so much, man, and you'd break me if you jump right now. I know that seeing the others would be worth it, but please, you need to stay. To be with me. I'll do anything Mark. I'll get a job, move back in, write you a 100 goddamned songs! Please just get off the ledge." Roger said. Mark looked shocked to say the least.

Someone cares?

Someone _cares_?

Someone cares...Mark could barely believe it. Before Mark could register what was happening, he felt his foot stepping off the ledge, and his trembling foot hit the ground of the rooftop.

He stepped fully of the ledge, and that's when the tears that were threatening to fall actually did. They fell from his eyes, and Mark began to crumple.

Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was the booze.

Maybe it was too many emotions coming at once.

Whatever it was, it was making Mark collapse like paper in a flame. As Mark fell down, he felt someone grab him, and cushioned his fall just in time. Mark began to sob, and put his face in the person's chest.

"Shh, big buddy, shh..." Roger whispered, patting his friend's back and tried to sooth him. To say it was kind of awkward would be deceiving. Roger has never seen Mark cry, and now that he has...he didn't know how to calm him. All he could do was rub Mark's back, hold him close, and hopefully he'd explain things later.

And as the two men held each other on top of that rooftop, they both knew that the future ahead was going to be hard, and probably unbearable most times, but as long as they both lived, they had each other, and that's all that mattered.


	5. Author's note

Hey everyone! Eragon's Princess here! I just want to let everyone that liked this story and wants to find out what happened after this story know that the long-awaited sequel is out. After much thinking, I got a storyline in my head. It's called, **Save me, my friend** and it's out right now. **REMEMBER REVIEW BOTH STORIES **_**PLEASE?**_ :) Thanks!

Love, Eragon's Princess


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